


Hell of a Feeling

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Choking, Gen, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: He hates.





	Hell of a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taniushka12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/gifts).



> fun fact this is the first tim fic i've written ever and also this is the first time i've thought about him since the finale happened and guess what guys still hurts still hurts real bad
> 
> @Taniushka12 you said you weren't picky so hope angst is okay
> 
> not beta'd

The bed and breakfast is quaint, and they all hate it immediately.   
  
Tim hates that it's come to this. He hates his boss. He hates having to share a bed with him. He hates having to get up at four in the morning to guy kill a mannequin. He hates feeling like his last night on earth is going to be spent with Jon.   
  
He showers first.   
  
He runs the water hot, scalding even, and stands under the spray until he can't handle it anymore. His hands shake from the heat when he turns off the water and dries himself off in front of the mirror. It's scars all the way down, all because of his stupid, awful job.   
  
He hasn't been with anyone in a while. He's pretty sure he would sooner die than let anyone see him like this. Have them ask questions, run their fingers over the scars and coo in worry. The thought makes him feel sick.  
  
Jon knocks on the door, and Tim shoves past him, turning the light off and getting into bed.   
  
It isn't comfortable.   
  
He takes the right side and sleeps closer to the door. If Jon wants to complain he should have showered first. He can see the ax, dim light from under the bathroom door glinting off of the blade. It's going to feel so good when he finally sinks it into whatever his brother has become. He's giddy for it.   
  
Too excited/nervous/horrified to sleep now.   
  
The light from the bathroom disappears before the door opens and Tim supposes that's the most considerate he's ever seen Jon be. The man gets into bed on his side, turned away from him. He sleeps in a tight ball, pulled together in a way that can't possibly be good for his joints.   
  
But Tim isn't Martin. Tim doesn't care about the poor old man's joints.   
  
“Can you sleep?” Jon jumps at the sound of Tim's voice in the silent room, and Tim rolls his eyes.   
  
“N-No. Don't think so.”   
  
“Same. Too keyed up.” Jon doesn't say anything, so Tim rolls all the way on his side to face him. “Hey, Boss.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Roll on your back.”   
  
“Why-”   
  
“Because you asked.”  
  
Jon does, and Tim takes the opportunity to get on top him, straddling his hips quickly enough.   
  
“I'm not – I don't-”   
  
“Shame.” He stares down at the same scars he has. Clusters of them on Jon's shoulders, on three on his cheek, up and down along his arms. “I hate you.”   
  
“You've said.”   
  
“I could kill you right now.”   
  
“The ax is right there.” Jon's eyes aren't as wide as Tim expected them to be. “Clean break, if you don't mind.”   
  
“Why don't you make me do it- if you want me to.” Jon sighs like he's the one being put upon.   
  
“I don't want you to- Tim if I could take all of this back, All of it, I would. In a heartbeat. But I can't. And I'm sorry that I ruined your life by hiring you, I am, I really, really am. But you can't expect you with an ax to be the scariest thing I've dealt with this month- this week, can you?”   
  
“Fuck you.”   
  
His hands press down on Jon's throat, and he squeezes.   
  
And then, finally, Jon's eyes go wide, and Tim feels satisfaction.    
  
He presses down until he feels Jon's legs kicking under him, the man's blunt nails digging into the meat of Tim's arm, of him looking desperate and gasping for air.   
  
I know you now, he wants to say. I know you so well now.   
  
Fuck you for letting the worms in, Fuck you for letting Sasha die, Fuck you for ruining Martin, for letting Melanie throw her life away, for getting the cops involved. Fuck you for making me hate myself.   
  
But he doesn't say any of it. He presses down on Jon's throat until Jon's face starts turning blue and his eyes start watering. And then he lets him go.   
  
Jon breathes in loudly, coughing and gasping and crying, finally, finally fucking crying.   
  
Some tiny part of him knows that Jon's been ruined just like he has, that none of this is his fault, that he didn't take Danny away, that it's all beyond both of them. But that part is small.   
  
The rest of him is happy to watch Jon sob and apologize for every single little thing.  
  
The room is dark and it is quiet, save for Jon's tiny sounds of pained crying.   
  
He doesn't feel guilty.  
  
He Doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> come [talk to me](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
